


Mad Hatter

by le_chat_vilain



Series: The Joker and the Thief [9]
Category: Batman (Comics), Suicide Squad (2016)
Genre: Action, Blood, Death, F/M, Murder, NSFW, Smut, Violence, acts of terrorism?, creepy fluff?
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-11-16
Updated: 2015-11-16
Packaged: 2018-05-01 21:36:12
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,676
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5221772
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/le_chat_vilain/pseuds/le_chat_vilain
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A few months have passed and Joker thinks it’s time for the thief to come out of the shadows and into the spotlight.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Mad Hatter

**Author's Note:**

> [TRIGGER WARNINGS: violence, multiple deaths, murder, massacre, acts of terrorism] 
> 
> The trigger warnings make this sound a lot worse than it is - in my opinion - but I don’t wanna end up shit creek without a paddle if I don’t include them. It’s actually got a bit of fluff in there amongst the action and has a little smut at the end. I decided to add in a time jump because that leaves room for me to go back and do oneshots later if I feel like it, and because the relationship needed to progress for the story to do so as well.
> 
> Soundtrack: Mad Hatter by Melanie Martinez

“Come on, you know you want to…it’ll be fun…when was the last time you hit the town, huh?” he pours the honeyed words in my ear as he sneaks in behind me for a hug while I’m making sure everything’s together for my next drop to Digger.

It’s been nearly four months since I left the girls’ apartment, and for the first time since I was a kid I’m genuinely happy. Pam hasn’t given us any trouble, and Harley and I have even gone to the arcade a few times together like we used to. Selina even asked me on a job last night, and a bloody lucrative one at that; it’s almost like old times.

Apart from the fact that I live here with him now, in a warped state of domestic bliss.

If you put aside the fact that we’re both going out and murdering people and stealing from them on the regular, and we’ve got an armory in our living room, we’re not that different from any other couple. We still ask each other about how the day went, we bitch about our co-workers, we can’t decide what to have for dinner, neither of us want to take the trash out, the fight for control of the remote is ever present; all normal stuff that normal people do.

He still rolls his eyes when I nag him about leaving his bloody work clothes around the flat. I still want a dog and he keeps saying ‘no, what if it pisses you off one day and you decide to decapitate it?’ Apparently he doesn’t want to deal with the mess, or see me sad. It’s sweet really.

What’s more, we make one hell of a team when we do head out together. He draws them in with the theatrics, I strike from the shadows. So far, the city’s heroes aren’t entirely sure if I truly exist; all they know is they never see me for more than a second, they never land a punch, and I always get what I came for. The others in our world all know me of course, they call me Secrets, because they all know that’s what I really trade in. Well, that and because they don’t know my name and that’s the way I like it.

We accept each other for the monsters we are, we don’t try to change each other or drag each other down. We challenge each other, push each other to be better – or worse, depending what side of the moral fence you’re on. We’re more than I ever thought we could or would be, more than lovers, more than partners in crime; we’re best friends, equals.

“Babe, I’m still exhausted from last night,” I whine, “why do you wanna stir up a nightclub, and why does it have to be tonight?”

“Because,” he leans on the counter with hands either side of mine and slides an iPhone in front of me. Its screen is cracked and there’s dried blood smeared across it, but I can see the Facebook event on the display.

“The Arkham staff are having a send off for someone named Bob?” I turn to look at him with skepticism.

“Exactly.” He’s smiling at me like an excited five year old who’s just found out he’s going to the zoo today. I have no idea where he’s going with this. I’ve had about 2 hours sleep and I have to meet Digger in forty-five minutes. I don’t have time for the cryptic shit today.

“What’s your point?”

“Take a scroll through the RSVPs.” I shoot him a disgruntled look and indulge him. “See any familiar names?”

My eyes are as wide as dinner plates when I see it: the name of my former doctor. The woman who ordered all of those atrocities to be carried out on me, and she was going to be there tonight, in the darkness, amidst the sea of inebriated bodies gyrating in time with the earsplitting beats. I turn to face him and he’s grinning at me smugly, knowing exactly how well he’s done with this lead.

“How’s party crashin’ sound now?” he asks, and I throw my arms around his neck and kiss him to show my gratitude. For years I was so absorbed with getting revenge on my father that I never considered what I’d do next, but this is certainly a start. He picks me up and sits me on the bench top, hands finding their way to the hem of my tank top and starting to lift.

“Hey, ease up, turbo, I gotta go in like…ten minutes…and we both know… that’s nowhere…near enough time…for that,” I tell him, muttering in between kisses as he pulls it off anyway. He grazes his lips along my collar bone and up my neck, and reaches for the clasp at the back of my bra. “Jay!”

“Say we’re doing it and I’ll stop…”

“Yes! We’re going! We’re going!,” I bubble, “Now get off me so I can go make us some money!”

He withdraws with a sigh, then quick as a flash reaches back around me and snaps open my bra, ducking to avoid the backhand he otherwise would have received.

“You’re an ass,” I tell him, trying not to smile.

“Please, you love me,” he retorts, beaming.

“Don’t flatter yourself,” I jest back, letting the grin come. The truth is, if I’m being honest with myself, I do love him, I just haven’t admitted it yet, maybe I never will. He knows, I know he knows, so why do I need to say it? Besides, it’s not like he’s said it yet either. We know what we are to each other, it doesn’t require definition or confirmation. I fix myself up again and recount the loot before packing it all into my knapsack and heading to the drop point.

I’m home three hours later, bag full of cash and a couple of new pieces of intel in my brain vault.

“Babe! I’m home!” I call out, and go over to unlock the cage and stash the money in the safe. When he doesn’t answer I call out again. “Babe?”

“In here!” he finally responds. I lock up and follow the sound of his voice into the bedroom. He pounces on me from just inside the door and covers my eyes; he’s lucky he knows me well enough by now to avoid my elbow connecting back with his ribs. “Hey! Watch it!”

“What are you doing?”

“Just wait for it…” he walks me into the room, eyes still covered. “Okay, now look.”

He takes his hands away and once my eyes adjust to the light I see what he was up to. I turn to him, completely taken off guard and slightly puzzled by what’s laid out on the bed.

“Well?”

I walk over and take the charcoal dress in my hand, examining the exquisite velvet and marveling at its softness and weight. An intricate pattern has been burnt into the material, a sheer design reminiscent of the windows of a gothic cathedral. It’s truly the most stunning fabric I’ve ever seen.

“It’s…beautiful, but…why?” I ask, looking back at him to see him smiling at me fondly. “You don’t mean, for tonight?”

He nods and saunters over to me.

“Try it on,” he urges, reaching forward and pulling my top off over my head for me. I indulge him, and peel myself out of my leathers before slipping the dress on over my head. It fits like a glove, tight in all the right places and flowy in all the rest. The neckline is a simple scoop, but the hem is jagged, the longest point hitting just above my knees. There’s two slits in the front that run right to the top of my thighs, though you can’t see them when they’re hidden in the folds created by the fabric’s drape. I look like a little gothic fairy, ethereal and dangerous, like I’m not even real. If I was stunned then he’s even more so, staring at me for once completely lost for words.

“Whoa,” is all he has to say, and he takes my hand and twirls me around, the first time quickly so that the circle of the skirt fans right out with the momentum, and the second time slowly, so he can admire every inch of me. He stops me so that I’m facing the bed and it’s then that I notice the second part of his gift. I reach down and grab the leather.

“Is this…is this what I think it is?” He simply nods at the hilt, insisting I draw the blade from it’s sheath.

“I figured since you were such a pain in the ass about getting it from the house…that you should at least put it to good use,” he tells me, taking the sheathe from my hand so that I can swing the old but now very sharp sword about a few times. The balance is just as perfect as I remember, but he’s had the piece completely restored; the grip, the detailed artwork along the blade, all of it.

“It’s…I don’t know what to say,” I mumble.

“So don’t say anything. Just promise me tonight - no more hiding?” he presses. “It’s time Gotham got a look at you, don’t you think? Bats has been nagging me about you for weeks you know…”

I eye him with skepticism. My anonymity has been my saving grace so many times up until now, was I really ready to give it up? Even if I was hiding behind an alias? Though, if Batman truly is trying to find out who I am, then it’ll only be a matter of time before I have to come out of the darkness, and this way it could at least be on my terms. He gingerly takes the sword from my hands and sheathes it once more, tossing it back onto the bed before brushing my cheek with his knuckles and leaning in close.

“Come on, baby, I wanna show you off…” he pleads, lips brushing mine, waiting for my answer. “Please…”

“Okay, fine, but only because-” I love you. I cut myself off before I say it.

“Because what?” he pulls away and gives me a suspicious look.

“Because I’m already dressed,” I lie, and he flashes a wicked grin at me before pulling me in for a kiss. “But you’re not, and I’m betting your guns need a clean. Get your ass in gear, we’ve got people to kill.”

I push him away with a chuckle and start rifling through my drawers. I take out a pair of suspender leggings; there’s no way I’m leaving my legs completely vulnerable. Next I pull out a cropped leather vest that zips up just under my tits for a little extra protection for my back, before marching towards the bathroom for the hard part.

“Jesus Christ, woman, hurry up!” he bellows through the closed door an hour later as I’m applying the finishing touches to what might be the most flawless makeup job of my life. “They’ll die of old age at this rate, what the fuck are you doing-”

I cut him off by opening the door and staring at him in vague irritation. He drinks me in, visibly awestruck at the way I’ve transformed myself.

“-in there…” he trails off.

“Well, some of us aren’t so lucky that we can get away with looking like mid-90s Courtney Love coming off a four day bender, you know,” I taunt, pushing past him to retrieve my weapons.

“How did you do that?” he asks me with the curiosity of a child, popping up behind me as I check my hair in the mirror by the door one last time.

“Body paint, manic panic, and a hell of a lot of skill,” I tell him as I button up my fingerless leather gloves. I look up and grin at the picture of us in the glass. Him in all his colourful glory, bright green hair, red lips, purple coat, and blazing blue eyes. Me, painted to perfection to look like I stepped out of a silent horror film, pale grey skin, silver hair, and blackout contacts. A monochromatic masterpiece. “What do you think? Too much?”

“The eyes are terrifying. It’s perfect,” he tells me, tilting my head to the side to steal a kiss from my pitch black lips. “You’re perfect.”

“Flattery will get you everywhere, mister,” I whisper. “Let’s do this thing.”

Reluctantly I agree to go with him in the car, rationalizing that we’re close enough to the downtown club strip that Batman won’t have time to stop us before we can even get in the door. We screech to a halt by the velvet ropes and immediately they begin to scatter, down the alleys, into neighbouring dwellings, even into dumpsters. This being Gotham, the bouncer is naturally armed, but Joker wastes no time in planting a .45 directly between his eyes as he takes a drag from his cigarette.

“Ladies first,” he says with a bow, helping me step over the mountain of recently deceased man laying across the doorway.

“Aww, thanks babe,” I give him a peck on the cheek as we flick our cigarettes away and he loops his hand around my waist so we can make our grand entrance. He fires two shots into the crowd and immediately the music comes to a stop and the drunks hit the floor.

“Good evening Gotham!” his voice rings out and bounces off the walls. “How are we all tonight?”

The question goes unanswered except for the faint sounds of sobbing and frantic text messaging as they start saying their goodbyes.

“Oh, what’s the matter, aren’t you all having fun? I know some of the dedicated staff of Arkham Asylum are with us this evening, where’s Bob? Bob’s retiring today! How about a round of applause for Bob?”

I catch myself staring at him in adoration, admiration, and just plain awe of his showmanship; there really is nothing more attractive than a man in his element. He waits for a response from the crowd but still nobody dares to move. Without looking, he fires again, this time executing a man to his immediate left, blood spattering all over his painfully hipster attire and his man bun flying off as the exit wound splits it in two.

“I said, how about some applause for Bob?” he reiterates, beaming at the way they all bring their hands together in fear. I scan the crowd for the one man who isn’t clapping: a man in his mid fifties who looks completely out of place in this surprisingly hip dive. I stalk over to him, circling like a shark, trailing my fingers around his shoulders until I’m standing next to him.

“Hi, Bob!” I yap in his ear with a cackle, starting to understand what that lunatic I love finds so appealing about doing things this way. At the last minute I decide to mask my accent – I’ve never met another Australian in this city besides Digger – and bust out my best Queen’s English. The poor bastard jumps half a foot in the air and when I look down I see he’s also pissed his pants. “Oh Bob, darling, don’t be scared. I’m not here for you. Doctor Patricia Blake, I know you’re here. Show yourself and Bob lives.”

I lay down the gauntlet and wait, and sure enough she rises to her feet trembling, her knees visibly knocking and her skirt about four inches too short for a woman her age. I shove Bob aside and turn to face her, the bitch who used me as a guinea pig for years; used a child to inflict her tortures on in the name of medical innovation.

“Who…who are you? What do you want?” she dares to ask, voice shaking and tears starting to well in her dark brown eyes. I make my way towards her stopping once I’m close enough that only she can hear me whisper.

“What’s the matter, doc? Don’t you remember me?” I drop the accent for a moment and raise a finger to slide my contact lens to one side so she can see the colour of my eyes. The life drains from her face and her breathing becomes ragged as though she’s about to have a panic attack. I flash her a sinister grin accompanied by a low chuckle. “Oh, so you do remember me!”

“Please, please I’m sorry, I’m so sorry Bl-”

“AH ah ahh, no. Let’s keep that a secret, shall we?” I mutter, clamping my hand over her mouth.

I see Joker stand at attention out of the corner of my eye, which can only mean one thing: the bat signal must have been activated. We only have a few more minutes for me to get this done. He starts swaggering through the crowd dropping mini gas canisters at random intervals so that we can make our escape when the time comes.

“This woman, was once my doctor, can you believe that?” I announce to the masses, “yes, when I was just a kid, my father threw me away under lock, key, and her care, and do you know what she did, my darlings? What she did to a child?”

Nobody answers, but I can see their faces all look from me or my partner, to her, intrigued by the tale they know I’m about to tell them.

“No takers? Okay, I’ll tell you. Not only did she see fit to electrocute me thousands of times, and have her orderlies beat me regularly, but as if that wasn’t enough, she cut into my belly and tore out my insides just because she could. All because I was a little too curious about death when I was a kid,” I preach, smiling as I see them all battle through the confusion about who the real villain is at this moment. “You think we’re monsters? Who do you think made us that way?”

I hear the thud on the roof of the old industrial building and I know my time is up.

“You know what you told me, Dr. Blake? Do you remember? Right before you tried to hammer a steel rod through my eyeball? Tell me, how do we fix a monster?” I draw the sword from the sheath on my back slowly and grab her by the throat as she claws desperately at my hand. The air around me moves and I feel Joker at my back, pistol in one hand and crow bar in the other, covering me while I finish the job.

“We lobotomize them,” I hiss at her, and with that, bring the tip of the sword to the inside corner of her left eye and push, slowly. It slides in like a warm knife through butter. Though I know I really don’t have the luxury, I take a good ten seconds to shove it right the way through to the back, then release her throat and let the weight of her corpse pull her away to land in a heap on the floor. The screams begin and we hear the sound of glass shattering: it’s time to go.

I give him the nod and he activates the canisters, gas filling the room quickly and quietly.

“And this concludes this evening’s entertainment,” he informs them all, ”Ladies and gentlemen, thank you, and goodbye.”

I light the zippo and toss it into the room before slamming the steel door behind us and running, diving into the car and speeding away just as the explosions start. As I’m looking in the side mirror working on extracting my contacts, I see the Bat burst from the door, but by the time he summons his car we’re too far gone. We ditch the pig magnet under a tarp in an alley a few of blocks from the theatre and start to make our way back on foot through the shadows. We make it about two city blocks before he grabs my hand, spins me to face him and pulls me into his arms. I giggle as he backs me into the wall of a dilapidated old warehouse.

“Really? Right now? You know he could still be chasing us,” I whisper, slipping my fingers inside his pants and popping the button. Twisting my lips into a mischievous smirk, I look up into those blue eyes and he just shakes his head at me, returning my grin in kind.

“God, I love you,” he growls, and before I get a chance to react, his lips are on mine, his hands are tearing off my leggings, and he’s lifting me so my thighs wrap around his hips. My fingers knot in his hair and yank as he pushes into me, driving me against the rough brickwork, teeth nipping at my neck and nails digging into my legs. I can feel the jack-in-the-box winding up, the electricity sparking and my heart racing. I bite into his shoulder when it happens, that pop that I’m so addicted to, and I can taste a hint of copper on my tongue. He turns to catch my lips when I detach, and after a brief kiss his head falls back and he lets out a groan and a curse with his release. Clutching each other, we slide down the wall to the ground, and he sits back against a dumpster, my legs still clamped firmly against his hips. I rest my knees on the cold concrete either side of him, and let my hands finally fall, resting my forearms on his shoulders.

Tracing his cheekbone with my thumb and riding out the high that’s completely hijacked my body and soul, I lock my eyes onto his and I finally say it, panting like I’ve just run a marathon, and beaming like an idiot.

“I love you too.”

 


End file.
